


Strung Out

by Pteropoda (SilentP)



Series: On the Knifeblade [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, Erotic Electrostimulation, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other, Sticky-style interfacing equipment, Valve Fingering (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 20:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17230292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentP/pseuds/Pteropoda
Summary: “You have no restraint. It’s up to me to be the disciplined one for the both of us, isn’t it?”Even restrained, Jazz needs a little incentive to show some restraint. Fortunately, Prowl knows just how to tease him into behaving.





	Strung Out

**Author's Note:**

> Last fic of the year! I've had a draft of this one for... a while now, as it follows in the wake of Flipped Around. There's a third in the same continuity that should be going up sometime next month, so watch out for that! And enjoy. 
> 
> The pose/bondage in this fic is inspired by [ this art](http://putsomepantieson.tumblr.com/post/147280480319/i-still-havent-recovered-from-sins-of-the)! [nothing explicitly nsfw, but warnings for spiders/tarantulas and springer].

Jazz had to give it to Prowl—his lover really knew how to keep Jazz on his toes.

So to speak. This session, Jazz’s pedes seemed destined to remain properly planted on the ground.

The bar from their last session was making a reappearance, but this time Prowl had done something very different with it. He’d positioned it just above Jazz’s helm height and bound his wrists to it with intricate loops of cord, right in front of left in such a way that Jazz couldn’t clasp his hands together or hold onto the pole itself. He couldn’t even grasp the rope for something to hold onto. Instead, his hands were curled loosely above his helm, flexing occasionally.

It wasn’t that the bar had him stretching upward—if anything it was actually a bit low, forcing him to curl his backstruts and widen his stance to keep from bumping his horns on his arms or the bar above him. It was a new kind of strain, one that Jazz was sure would start aching eventually. With his arms up like this, his peripheral vision was limited. It was like the sides of his visor had been painted over, leaving him with only a view of the supports holding the bar up and a blank stretch of Prowl’s wall. It was better than a complete blindfold, but Jazz’s audials still strained to pick up every last whisper of air through the room.

He didn’t startle at the sound of approaching footsteps, but the hand on his aft certainly took him by surprise. Jazz twisted in place, turning just enough to catch a brief glimpse of a severe faceplate and red chevron.

“Stop that,” Prowl said. He swatted Jazz’s aft, and Jazz yelped in protest. It didn’t hurt, it was just the principle of it!

Jazz gave Prowl his best offended pout when the other mech stepped fully into his line of vision. “I didn’t do anything to deserve that,” he huffed.

“We’ve barely begun and you’re already testing the limits. I’m simply reminding you of the consequences.”

“You’re not giving me much leeway,” Jazz retorted, twisting his wrists in demonstration. They couldn’t move much.

If this game had been about Jazz following the rules, Prowl could have just ordered him to hold onto the bar instead of tying him to it. The fact that he hadn’t, and that this position was much tamer than what Prowl usually twisted Jazz into, meant he had something else in mind. Just contemplating it had Jazz running his glossa along his lip plating.

He saw the way Prowl’s optics followed the movement, and did it again just to see the way their glow intensified.

“Imp,” Prowl said, but he ducked forward under the bar and caught Jazz by the chin anyway. Jazz purred in satisfaction and let Prowl pull him into a kiss. He coaxed Prowl’s mouth open with his glossa, and tilted his helm as best he could in his restraints.

When Prowl pulled away, Jazz heard the slow hum of his fans cycling on. Jazz drew in air to try and cool his own systems down a little, clenching and relaxing his hands at the feeling of charge beginning to build in his frame. He wondered if he’d ever be able to kiss Prowl into forgetting all of his carefully laid plans. Prowl certainly looked distracted right now, with his lips parted and his optics a deep cerulean. It was such a delicious sight, it almost made up for the way Jazz couldn’t touch him.

“Are you ready?” Prowl asked. His fingers ghosted over the ties at Jazz’s wrist one last time, then down his arms. Jazz twitched under the touch, which was too light to do anything but tickle.

“Yes,” Jazz said immediately. “Don’t let me get bored, Prowl.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Prowl said, and dropped to his knees.

Jazz’s engine revved audibly, and his mouth went dry. The smug little smirk on Prowl’s face meant he knew exactly what he was doing to Jazz, and enjoying it too, the slagger. Biting his lip was the only thing keeping Jazz from moaning loud enough to be heard over the sound of his systems cycling up.

He did. Just thinking about it was enough to have a shiver working its way down Jazz’s back. “Yes, sir,” he said, aiming for lighthearted. It came out a little too breathless to be anything but sincere.

Jazz shifted his legs, widening his stance as he let his panel slide away. Then he triggered his spike to extend, until it hung limp between his thighs.

Most ‘formers would let their spike emerge from its housing as it pressurized, rising from its sheath only as it stiffened and swelled, so that it was fully extended when it was ready for use. Prowl usually took a different tactic with Jazz, and demanded that he extend his spike fully, and then let it pressurize into proper hardness. There were more nodes to take advantage of that way, according to Prowl.

It was torturous, and Jazz had loved it from the moment Prowl had first ordered him to do it.

He was already tensing in anticipation as Prowl slid his fingers along the shaft, then grasped the base. Each touch was a little shiver of charge that seemed to spark along the entire length of his spike. It wouldn’t take long for him to pressurize fully, he knew. He let his helm hang and watched Prowl’s face as his lover began to slowly stroke his spike. Prowl always looked at him like Jazz was a lock that only Prowl knew the combination to, and that, just as much as the touch, had Jazz’s spike hardening.

“You’re going to kill me,” he moaned, when Prowl gave a particularly firm squeeze in the midst of his stroking.

“Is that any way to talk to me?” Prowl said, repeating the motion.

“You’re going to kill me, _sir.”_

“Better,” Prowl said, leaning closer. “We’ll see what we can do with that.”

Then he licked the head of Jazz’s spike.

Jazz choked back a whimper as he felt the wet swipe of Prowl’s glossa. He tried to look down to see Prowl, but his bumper made that difficult. He didn’t even need to see Prowl’s optics to know that they would be lit up in satisfaction. Especially when Prowl took Jazz’s spike into his mouth and sucked delicately on the head. He could feel Prowl smiling around his spike when he groaned.

It was a struggle to keep from moving. Prowl was _trying_ to drive him crazy, he just knew it—he was teasing at every sensitive spot Jazz had, flicking his tongue at the slit, gently teasing his fingers at the base, sucking occasionally or pressing kisses along the length. Jazz was rapidly approaching full pressurization, and already Prowl was very near reducing him to begging.

The position he was tied in didn’t leave Jazz much freedom. He could hardly pull away from where his wrists were pinioned, and with Prowl kneeling in front of him, his stance was forced to widen to accommodate. It didn’t help that Prowl was doing a fantastic job of reducing his legs to rubber. Bowed as he was, he couldn’t angle his hips forward enough to thrust well, or to see much beyond the back of Prowl’s helm move occasionally.

When Prowl finally slid his mouth down the length of Jazz’s spike, Jazz shuddered from the tips of his fingers to his pedes. He tried to curl forward, only to be caught by the ties at his wrists holding him up. He moaned. If only he could touch Prowl, he could urge him on with gentle touches to his chevron, tease him just as much as he was teasing Jazz. He flexed against the bonds as he tried to keep his hips from twitching.

His comm clicked on.

“ _This is why you’re tied up,”_ Prowl said. His voice, so cool over comms, was a shocking contrast to the way he hummed around Jazz’s spike. _“If I let you, you’d end this right now, chasing your overload without ever waiting to savor the pleasure.”_

“Prowl,” Jazz moaned. Prowl took his spike deeper, and Jazz’s entire frame jolted. “Sir!”

_“You have no restraint,”_ Prowl continued. _“It’s up to me to be the disciplined one for the both of us, isn’t it?”_

Jazz’s helm lolled. He kept trying and failing to shift either into or away from Prowl’s teasing at turns, but he couldn’t look away. One hand rested on the gimbal of Jazz’s hip, the other still circled the base of Jazz’s spike. Jazz was shivering as he watched, in long waves from the top of his helm to his pedes. He couldn’t help himself, when Prowl sucked hard. He gave in and let his hips twitch up into the warmth.

Prowl immediately pulled away from his spike, and Jazz groaned in loss, trying and failing to follow Prowl’s mouth. Prowl gripped his hip hard, preventing him from moving.

“As I said,” Prowl said, his voice smug and rough with the remnants of his enthusiastic treatment of Jazz’s spike. “No restraint.” He kissed the tip of Jazz’s spike, and Jazz bit his lip hard, unsure if he was more charged up from the sound of Prowl’s voice or the contact itself. “Now, will you try to be good?”

“Yes,” Jazz moaned. It came out pleading, but Jazz couldn’t bring himself to mind that. His spike was straining and fully pressurized, and the cool air of the room felt like a tease of its own against his hot plating.

Prowl hummed thoughtfully. “We’ll see about that,” he said. Jazz stiffened as Prowl brushed fingers over the head of Jazz’s spike, then kissed it again gently. Jazz shut down his vocalizer, determined not to give Prowl any more excuses for teasing. He already felt bright and staticky with charge, and every little touch Prowl gave only increased it.

By the time Prowl started teasing at the wiring and cables in his hips, Jazz could feel the heat pouring off of his systems, like he was a furnace. “Sir,” he said, pouring all of his arousal into his voice. “Please, I need…”

It was a blatant appeal to Prowl’s own arousal, and he had to know it, but it still made Prowl pause, then pull back enough to look up and meet Jazz’s visor with optics that glowed a deep, aroused blue. “That’s better,” Prowl said. “Now, can you be patient?” He said, and much to Jazz’s horror, he rose to his pedes and stepped back.

“Prowl!” Jazz protested, jerking forward in his bonds. “I said please!”

It didn’t make Prowl stop, it just had him chuckling as he made his way further into the room—and _away_ from Jazz, frag it all! “Did I not just ask you to be patient, Jazz?”

“But,” Jazz huffed. Prowl wasn’t looking at him, so he didn’t sulk, but he did test his bonds, weighing the possibility of getting free against whatever ‘punishment’ Prowl might think up for his disobedience. Not enough to get him to overload any sooner, he decided. “Proooooowl,” he whined in his most dramatic voice, “why are you all the way over there?”

Prowl glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t pull away from whatever he was doing. “If you’re patient,” he said calmly, “you’ll find out.”

Jazz made sure Prowl could hear it when he grumbled, but eventually he fell silent, only idly testing his bonds. He could only see Prowl’s back and the wall, and neither of those was much of a distraction from the charge and anticipation thrumming through him. Idly, Jazz twisted his wrists in the cords around them, wondering if he could twist enough that the sharp edge of his forearm plating would rub against the rope.

 “Jazz?”

Prowl’s hand on his shoulder, his voice, managed to startle Jazz out of his thoughts. “Mm, about time you came back,” he purred, sticking out his tongue to lick impishly even as he leaned into the hand. “I was about to start escaping.”

Prowl’s optics flickered with a warm gleam that didn’t quite match the exasperation in his expression. “You,” he said, lifting his hand to tweak Jazz’s horn, “require my undivided attention. Now, if I tell you to stay still, will you follow the order, or am I going to have to remind you once again who is in charge?”  

His hand remained on Jazz’s helm as he looked Jazz over. Jazz let the tension bleed out of his arms and frame, and gave Prowl his best smirk. “Oh, I know exactly who’s in charge,” he said, letting his glossa dart out “But I’ll stay still anyway.”

The grip on his horn turned into a lever for Prowl to jerk his helm gently in reprimand. “Impudent indeed,” he said, shaking his own helm. “We’ll see if that lasts.”

This time when Prowl knelt, he let one hand trail down Jazz’s frame, a light contact that moved from Jazz’s bumper to his hip to settle against his thigh. Jazz felt the static that zinged through his frame at every little brush, and his spike throbbed in anticipation of being touched again. It was an electrifying anticipation that was only heightened by not being able to see exactly what Prowl was doing.

He tensed in anticipation when Prowl’s hand left his hip, but instead of touching Jazz’s spike, Prowl set something against his thigh. It stayed stuck to him even when Prowl pulled his hand away, and Jazz twitched, trying to figure out what it was. Prowl was already moving on, sticking more to his thigh and then moving on to his hips.

“Stop squirming,” Prowl told him, pinching at a cable in Jazz’s hip. “I haven’t even turned it on yet.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say if he actually wanted to keep Jazz from twitching, because Jazz knew exactly what toy Prowl was using now, and he could already imagine the current from the electrodes Prowl was sticking onto him coursing through his spike and valve in a delicious phantom charge. “Yes, sir,” he groaned, but he could not quite stop himself from shifting under Prowl’s hands as more electrodes were stuck to his plating.

Prowl flicked his hip to catch his attention. “I’m attaching the leads,” he said in warning, and Jazz locked his joints. These parts would be inserted into the cables and wiring of his joints, and he didn’t want those inserted in the wrong places, no matter how eager he was for Prowl to turn the device on.

It had to be uncomfortable to kneel for so long, but even when all of the wires were attached securely to Jazz’s frame, Prowl still didn’t stand. One of his hands remained on Jazz’s hip. The other moved to his spike, teasing along the length for a brief moment, then pulling away when Jazz made a sound. He touched Jazz’s valve as well, but pulled away again when Jazz tried to grind down against the contact.

“Yes,” Prowl said with a pleased purr. “I believe you’re ready.”

He didn’t even give Jazz time to retort before he turned the device on.

It didn’t start as much. Just a faint tingle through his substructure, one that felt more pronounced in his spike and his valve despite the fact that none of the electrodes were attached to it directly. If he’d been distracted, Jazz might not even have noticed it. But with the thrill of anticipation holding his frame taught, the sensation was—literally—electric.

Jazz could not have stopped his hips from twitching if he’d tried. Nor could he stop the moan that fell from his mouth as he felt the static tingle buzz through him. “Prowl, sir,” he started to say, his hands flexing against the ties.

“Yes, Jazz?” Prowl said. He sounded amused. His hand was still on Jazz’s hip, and Jazz wondered suddenly if Prowl could feel the electricity through the contact. His mouth was suddenly very dry, and he swallowed.

“Please, more.”

“Since you remembered your manners…” The change was incremental, but Jazz bit his lip plating to keep from complaining. He focused instead on the buzz and the tingle, the way it made his hips want to roll into the contact that wasn’t there. He was rewarded for his restraint by a jump in the current that had him staggering and briefly moaning.

Prowl’s hand curled harder against his hip, but even that wasn’t enough to restrain Jazz’s movements. He was fidgeting, rolling his hips in a desperate attempt to escape the powerful yet ghostly sensation of the electricity coursing through him. He could feel the way the foreign charge made his valve pulse and his spike ache, and he could feel the fluid beginning to drip from both. He twisted against the rope at his wrists, trying to find some position to stand in that would let him press his thighs together, or free a hand to work his spike, or _anything_. But he was stuck hunched over, panting, his legs shaking.

“Please, sir,” he groaned. He could hear the whine in his voice as he tried to display himself to Prowl despite the awkward position.

“Please…?” Prowl prompted, but his hand was moving on Jazz’s hip, no longer just holding. He slid his fingers into the gap in Jazz’s armor, plucked at a cable. When that made Jazz twitch, he moved on, picking spots to poke at and tease, sending sparks of pleasure through Jazz’s frame without ever touching his spike or valve directly.

It was good, but it wasn’t enough. Jazz opened his mouth to beg when the charge coursing through him jumped. His helm fell forward and he moaned. His thighs shook with the exertion and his arousal. Above his helm, he clenched his hands hard enough that his fingers were probably denting the metal of his palms.

“Sir,” he gasped. He was having a hard time keeping his visor online, even though he couldn’t see Prowl anyway. It was surreal, watching the floor and the pole of the frame in front of him without being able to predict anything that was going to happen to him. Some lubricant had escaped his valve to trail down his thigh, and the thin path of it felt like a lightning strike. “Please, sir, let me, let me…”

“Let you come?” Prowl asked, confirming, and Jazz whined his agreement, biting his lip so hard he thought it might split. If it weren’t for the ropes keeping him attached to the bar, he’d be swaying, but the shocks of pleasure were enough to have him pulling against them. He swore he could taste the charge on his dentae, and it seemed to fill his valve and spike from the inside out, turning them into a tingling, throbbing mess. He couldn’t seem to keep himself still. His hips were moving, and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to get away from the relentless sensation or get more of it.

If anything touched his spike or his valve, he would go off, he knew it. The electricity jumped again, and Jazz swore he felt little static bolts crawling between the wires of his hips, his armor, along the head of his spike. “Please,” he gasped, as his legs nearly gave out under him.

Something pinched delicately just under the head of his spike, and Jazz bit his glossa hard as his charge released, enhanced by the electricity still pumping through his frame. He swore he could feel every pulse of transfluid leaving him, and all the sensors in his valve seemed just as lit up as if he’d been stretched around the biggest spike he could take. Lubricant escaped his valve as he shook.

His legs nearly gave out, put Prowl’s hand latched onto his hip, providing a steadying presence that Jazz leaned into. The electricity continued to pulse through him, not letting up at all, and Jazz bucked and nearly screamed as Prowl’s other hand came up to shove two fingers deep inside his spasming valve. He clenched hard around them, then his whole frame shook as another finger pressed hard against his node. A few more thrusts of Prowl’s fingers and he was overloading again.

He wrenched helplessly at the ties on his wrists trying to reach for Prowl, and the only sound that escaped his vocalizer was a croak, but even as the overload dragged on, hovering on the edge of pain, Prowl did not let up.

“Don’t fall,” was Prowl’s stern warning. He pinched hard on the wires in Jazz’s hip.

“Yes, sir,” Jazz slurred, licking wet energon off of his lip plating and trying to tense his legs again, widening his legs in a desperate attempt to ground his stance. It was the only warning he had, the only time he could prepare.

This time Prowl’s fingers slammed into him harder, faster, giving him no time to clench around them before they were withdrawing and pressing back inside, all while his node was mercilessly pressed, every touch to it like the electricity driving through him was a bolt of lightning being released through that single spot. It built into a wave of ozone energy, and Jazz could hear his voice echoing faintly in his own audials—“Sir, yes, please sir, I’m going to—to—“

The tremble started in his pedes and swept through him like a shockwave, making his valve seize hard. He jerked so dramatically that he pulled away from Prowl’s fingers, but that didn’t matter, with every contraction of his valve he saw starbursts, felt lubricant pulsing hard out of him, dancing on the edge of overwhelming. 

Just as he was about to cry out, the current stopped, leaving him with only the tingles of an intense overload. Jazz shuddered and slumped, caught by the ropes on his wrists. Prowl’s grip on him firmed, and Jazz felt steady hands sliding up his frame as Prowl came out of his kneel.

He had to reset his visor, but when he could finally focus on Prowl in front of him, he grinned. “Going to let me down, sir?” he asked. His vision slid woozily. He saw Prowl frown, then reach out toward his lip plate and wipe at something. His finger came away pink.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

Jazz considered, ran his glossa over his lips. There was a little sting, but it hardly broke through the floaty sensation. “Not really,” he answered.

Prowl nodded, then stepped forward, until his frame was pressed against Jazz’s. Jazz made a little pleased sound—it wasn’t comfortable, really, with the awkward way he was tied and their bumpers in the middle of things—but the contact was nice after only having Prowl’s hands.

“Lean on me if you need to,” Prowl told him, then lifted his hands to the ropes keeping Jazz attached to the bar. For all of Jazz’s tugging earlier, it took Prowl only moments to untie him. Jazz slumped against Prowl, curling his arms around his lover as the two of them sank down against the floor.

“Hands?” Prowl prompted, and Jazz pulled them up enough for Prowl to see and flexed them, rotating his wrists.

“Didn’t leave as many dents as I thought,” he mumbled when he looked at his palms, and he heard a soft huff of amusement from Prowl as he did.

“I like that bar, Prowler,” Jazz muttered, as Prowl shifted their positions, sitting them both on the floor and angling Jazz in his lap. Jazz let his helm rest on Prowl’s shoulder as he curled into the warmth and let himself drift in the fuzzy space a little longer. It was nice like this, sometimes, where he wasn’t deep enough to completely lose himself. It was nice to still be Jazz, but a Jazz with no problems. “Let’s do more with it.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Prowl said, amusement coloring his voice. His hand was smoothing down Jazz’s frame, and Jazz felt a little thrill at the way it stopped to linger at his hip again. “We will have plenty more uses for that.”


End file.
